The Benefits of Passion (24 page)

It was Friday night and Will was out on call. The lack of sleep would make him bad-tempered tomorrow, but Annie was relieved he'd been out of the house for most of the evening. She went upstairs but could not sleep. Will came back at midnight and she listened to him going to bed. The police helicopter was hovering overhead. A voice boomed and the searchlight slid over Annie's window. It sent a worm of light slithering across her bed through the crack in the curtains. She went to the window and looked out. The beam was raking across rooftops as the helicopter circled the streets. Who was it hunting? She got back into bed. After about half an hour it throbbed away into the distance.

She still couldn't sleep. Perhaps she could spend the time with Barney and Isabella. Her notebook was downstairs in the kitchen where she had been trying to write earlier. She decided to risk the alarm – she could remember the code number, surely – and collect the book. She tiptoed down to the hallway and pressed the buttons. Her heart thumped as she reached gingerly for the door handle. Don't be silly, she told herself. It won't go off.

It did. The siren howled and Will came running. ‘What the fuck are you doing?'

‘I'm sorry. I must have –'

‘Can't you remember a simple four-digit fucking number?'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘You've been using it for a week, for Christ's sake. What did you want?'

‘A book.' She scuttled into the kitchen and grabbed it, hoping he wouldn't guess she'd been leaving the house each day without putting the alarm on. He made a visible effort to control himself.

‘Look, I'm sorry, Annie. Ignore me. I'm knackered, that's all.' His hand touched her arm briefly. ‘I'll change the number to something you can remember. Tomorrow. OK?'

Her voice trembled. ‘Thanks.'

He set the alarm again and they went back upstairs. ‘Sorry,' he said again. ‘Are you all right?'

‘It's not working,' she wept. ‘I don't think I can go on living like this. I'd better go and stay with Ted.'

‘OK,' he said, after a pause. ‘If that's what you want.'

‘It's just that . . .'

‘Yeah. Look, Annie, there's nothing we can do now. We'll sort it out tomorrow, all right? But I've
got to sleep
.'

‘Sorry.' But his door was already closed.

She curled up under the covers and cried bitterly. Nothing could be worse than this, she told herself. Even losing him altogether couldn't be as bad as the tension of living as they were. He'd never know what she really felt. Unless she told him before she left. I'll tell him tomorrow, she decided. But her tears would not subside. She tried to cry silently in case he could hear. I daren't disturb him again. But something desperate and Isabella-like took hold of her. What had she got to lose? A moment later she was hurrying to his room.

‘Now what?' he snarled, turning the light on. ‘This had better be good, Annie.'

‘I – I –' She got stuck on a hiccuping sob.

‘
What?
' He stared with wild sleep-starved eyes.

‘I love you. I want to stay.' I had nothing to lose, she told herself.

There was a pause. A slow smile dawned on his scowling face. ‘Well, get in the fucking bed, then,' he said.

‘What?'

‘Get in.' He flung back the covers. ‘And take off your rags, Cinderella. I'll bestow on you whatever you ask, up to half my kingdom. Though not my hand in marriage, admittedly.' He flung his arms wide like a mad Pentecostal preacher. ‘Thank you,
Je
-sus!'

She stood bewildered. ‘You mean –'

‘I mean I love you. Passionately. Blasphemously, even – with my heart, soul, strength and mind. Not forgetting my body.' He was pulling her into bed and tugging at her grey T-shirt while she stuttered in shock at what she'd unleashed.

‘But you never said.'

‘You never asked. I didn't want to scare you off.' He was kissing her naked flesh. ‘This last week has been hell, Annie. Having you in the house, but not being able to . . .' His tongue, his fingers! Mad glissandos of delight. She clung to him, weeping, and felt his tears on her face as he entered her.

‘I thought you were tired,' she said afterwards.

He chuckled. ‘Not that tired, honey child.'

They lay for a long time staring into one another's eyes.

‘So you really want to make a go of this?' he asked. ‘Live as man and wife and bring this baby up together?'

‘Y – yes.'

‘You don't sound sure.'

‘It's just the . . . the baby. I can't quite believe in it, somehow. How big is it, do you think?'

‘Depends how far on you are.' His hand was stroking her belly. ‘Say ten weeks. Hmm. About two inches long. It'll have all its major organs by now. Eyes, fingers and toes.'

She thought about it. Two inches long. Maybe more. All its organs. ‘What if I can't love it?'

He smiled. ‘You will.'

Later she lay listening to his breathing as the sky lightened outside. One by one the birds began to sing. A new day dawning in Bishopside. Would it be the start of a new era? I'm living in sin, she thought. She wondered what God made of it all. For a moment he loomed wrathfully above her, his eye raking the streets in search of sinners. Then the image vanished. She reached out and touched Will's hand. His fingers closed round hers.

Outside the sky grew steadily paler. The sun rose over the quiet streets, shining like the grace of God on the righteous and the unrighteous.

CHAPTER 23

She woke the following morning to find him smiling at her.

‘Good morrow, Mistress Comequickly,' he said and kissed her.

‘And good morrow to you, my Lord Lackprong,' she replied unwisely. His lengthy retaliation made him late for work.

Annie stretched out in his bed and smiled. How would she fill the vast empty morning till he returned? You can stop trying to please everyone else now and please yourself, Gabriel had said. If she'd taken him seriously she might have spared herself weeks of misery. How much of her life had she wasted in her misguided attempts not to give offence? She thought about God again and wondered if he was pleased to see her happy, as Gabriel had suggested, even though her situation was dubious. I really
am
happy, she thought. It was a daring idea, one that seemed to invite immediate divine retribution. But there was no thunderbolt, just a glorious day streaming in through the half-open curtains.

Annie stretched again and decided it was time to tie the knot for Isabella and Barney.

At last the day came. Isabella fed herself into her oyster satin. Hermione grumbled and plucked at her tight shot silk bridesmaid's dress. It was deep red to match Isabella's roses. The style had been Camilla's choice.

‘Hey, you look stunning, Herm!' exclaimed Isabella in surprise.

‘Hah,' replied Hermione bitterly, but she allowed herself to be kissed and fussed over for once.

Camilla twisted this way and that in front of the mirror, a cigarette drooping from her lips. ‘My bloody tits are lopsided,' she complained. She was still hung over from the previous night and Isabella suspected she was regretting all those maudlin confidences. Interesting to know that Camilla had once made a very serious pass at Barney and had been, humiliatingly, turned down. No wonder they didn't like one another.

Isabella adjusted her vast rose-trimmed hat one last time, and they were off.

As she went down the aisle on her father's arm Isabella was amazed at the waves of goodwill that surged from all sides. All those smiling faces. She was a newly launched vessel and here were all her friends and family crowding the slipway to cheer her on. God bless this marriage and those who sail in her! And God did indeed seem to be beaming down on the proceedings. She reached Barney and he turned and gave her his wonderful slow smile.

They emerged in a swirl of confetti as the bells pealed joyfully. Isabella was made to be a bride. Self-effacement was not among her talents. Oh, heaven for one brief day! To revel unashamedly in the limelight, to queen and preen and float and gloat, to be, for all practical purposes, the only woman present.

It flew past too quickly. In no time they were sitting for the speeches. Isabella's father said the usual things about not so much losing a daughter as gaining a second row forward. Barney rose to reply, thanking everyone courteously and expressing his particular gratitude to his new parents-in-law for the lovely gift of their daughter. ‘I look forward to unwrapping her later,' he concluded, amid cheers and scandalized expressions.

Not much later, as it turned out.

‘Barney, we can't possibly!'

‘Why not? We're married.'

She was still stupid with surprise as they got into the car and left for the honeymoon. The laughter and cheering faded behind them. Barney stopped in a quiet lane to remove some of the clanking cans and streamers. The silence of the countryside was vast. A bird sang in the hedge. Isabella felt herself telescoping dizzily downwards, shrinking from being the centre of the universe into nothing but a tiny dot in the landscape. Barney got back into the car and smiled at her. It's only him and me now, she thought.

They drove for a while in silence. That's it, thought Isabella. We've done it. We're actually man and wife. Her mind still boggled at Barney's precipitous consummation of their marriage. But she must remember he was a rookie. She would have to guide him. But how to drop a little hint without offending him?

‘Bloody hell, Barney. That was a masterful performance back there.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Incredible. Straight in at the meat course. Maybe we could have something by way of a starter next time. You know, a bit of foreplay.'

‘Foreplay,' he repeated thoughtfully, as though it was something he must remember to get along with the milk at the corner shop. She stole a glance to see if he was hurt and caught him wiping a grin off his face.

Annie paused and did a quick calculation. If they left the reception at four or five and it was a six- or seven-hour drive . . . No, they'd have to break the journey to Northumberland. She promptly called up a beautiful old country hotel in the Peak District and ushered Barney and Isabella into the bridal suite.

‘Right,' said Barney, picking Isabella up and flinging her on to the four-poster bed. ‘More foreplay, was it?'

‘Yes, please.'

He stripped her bare and set to work. It rapidly became clear that he needed no little hints from her. More hors d'oeuvres than she'd ever encountered in her life before. He hadn't learnt this at Latimer Hall. She whimpered and struggled, but he pinned her down, kindly but firmly, savouring, devouring, gorging until she pleaded with him to stop. At last he relented, rolled her over and pulled her to her knees.

‘Wait!' she cried. ‘I've never –'

‘You have now,' he said.

‘Oh, God!'

Like animals! And what with her squealing and him grunting it was more like a barnyard than a bridal suite. He ended with a mad taurine bellow and collapsed, exhausted. She stared down at him. He lay like a felled oak diagonally across the bed. There was no rousing him. She was forced to curl up bewildered and laughing in the space he had left. It was a long, long time before she fell asleep.

She woke the following morning and reflected that, in more ways than one, she'd been had. He'd deliberately fooled her into thinking he was inexperienced. She sat up indignantly. He was lying on his back still fast asleep. She gazed into his beloved face. He looked so innocent and cherubic that she forgave him. She pulled back the covers stealthily. He didn't stir. Sunlight gleamed in the golden hair on his chest. She lay down and rested her head on his warm belly. She was eye to eye with Hardstaff himself, who was all primed and ready to go although Barney was still dead to the world. She dropped an indulgent kiss on him. At once a hand was on the nape of her neck encouraging her down. She recoiled. I can't! The hand fell away.

Isabella cursed inwardly. Why had she always projected such a worldly image of herself? She thought in dismay of all the other things commensurate with her supposed experience that he might expect her to perform. A tear trickled down her cheek.

‘Are you crying?' asked Barney. She snuffled into his belly. ‘Isabella! What's wrong?' He sat up and cradled her in his arms. ‘Don't cry.'

‘It's just that I'm not very experienced,' she bawled.

‘I know you're not.'

She stared aghast. ‘You mean I was lousy!'

‘
Lousy?
' He laughed and stroked her hair. ‘I mean, I've always known you were basically a good girl just pretending to be bad.'

‘And you,' she accused, ‘are a bad boy pretending to be good.'

He gave her an angelic smile and lay back down. ‘A very bad boy indeed, I'm afraid.'

She glared at him. ‘How many girls have you slept with?'

‘I didn't exactly cut notches in the bedpost, Isabella.'

‘Come on,' she persisted. ‘More than ten?' His eyes went round with shock, but this time she wasn't fooled. ‘More than twenty?'

‘I don't know. Possibly.'

‘I bet you know exactly. What number was I? Go on.'

‘I can't remember.'

‘Perhaps this will focus your mind,' she said sweetly, taking a firm grip between his legs. ‘How many?'

‘Honestly, I can't – Aargh! Sixty-three. Let go!'

‘
Sixty-three?
' Isabella had only managed five.

‘Over eight years,' he pleaded. ‘That's less than ten a year. It was before I was a Christian.'

‘Did they all go down on you?'

‘Aargh! About half. For God's sake, Isabella!'

‘Hah!' She dealt him a final squeeze and let go. Was she going to be outdone by so many predecessors? She frowned thoughtfully as he moaned and clutched himself.

‘That's probably what gave me the idea of going into the Church,' he remarked when he'd recovered. ‘Seeing so many women on their knees.'

She spluttered in shock. ‘I cannot
believe
you just said that, Barney!'

‘I always returned the compliment,' he assured her.

‘No!' she shrieked, as his blond head disappeared between her thighs. Isabella had never been able to take cunnilingus seriously. It always struck her as an absurd party game, like trying to eat avocado with your hands tied behind your back, or something. But – ‘Oh, Barney!' – she gradually began to see the point.

‘Everything all right?' asked the hotel owner, as they checked out.

‘Wonderful, thank you,' said Barney politely.

‘You're telling me,' said Isabella.

Annie giggled as she went downstairs. She tried to eat some breakfast, but could only manage half a piece of dry toast. The post came and there was still no reply from her parents. You can just stew in your own juice, Anne, her mother would be thinking. The long silence was all part of the punishment. ‘Ring them, then,' Will had suggested. ‘Take control.' She went out for a walk, sucking another mint imperial.

As the day passed her euphoria seeped away. By the evening she was battling, as usual, with tears.

‘What's wrong, sweetheart?' asked Will, when he got back from work.

‘Oh, I don't know. I just feel . . . I know I should be happy, but . . .'

‘Why should you?'

‘Well, because . . .'

‘Look, you've lost one of the most important things in your life, haven't you?'

For a moment she couldn't think what that was. ‘My vocation, you mean? But you never believed in it!'

‘You did, though. What happened to it? Did it just vanish? How are you going to make your peace with God?'

‘Stop it!' she cried. ‘It's bad enough without you –'

‘Come on, you've got to face it some day, Annie.'

‘I
know!
I can't get my mind round it. It's all too much.'

‘Why don't you go to church? Find some nice vicar to talk to.'

‘Maybe I will.' Her voice lacked conviction.

‘Please, Annie,' he wheedled, taking her hand. ‘For my sake. I feel like such a shit when you're miserable. Like I've robbed you of your salvation.'

‘All right,' she said crossly. ‘You're shameless.'

‘That's me,' he agreed.

The following day was Saturday. Annie set out to find a church of the right flavour. The streets near Will's house were full of Jewish families going to synagogue in their Sabbath best. The nearest church didn't look particularly evangelical. It was locked so she couldn't snoop around and peer at the hymn books and décor to gauge the churchmanship. She wandered towards the town centre. This was the place she had found so depressing the day Tubby had sent her to look round. Now she sensed a cheerful stoicism in the air as people went about their shopping. Up above a little aeroplane was circling busily, towing a long ribbon across the blue sky. Annie squinted up. A rock concert. She ran the back of her hand across her forehead.

‘Warm enough for you?' called an old woman at the bus stop.

‘Yes, lovely, isn't it?' replied Annie, conscious of her southern accent. On impulse she drew closer. ‘Is there a church round here at all? I wanted to go tomorrow.'

Immediately three or four other people in the queue joined the conversation. Annie listened to a lament for lost churches. All those lovely old buildings. All pulled down. Terrible, terrible. They'd pulled the old St James down. St Mary's near the bridge, well, that was an auctioneer's now. Ee, it's a shame. Lovely old church. Before it was burnt. Ee, terrible, terrible. Holy Trinity, just over there on the High Street, that was closed, too – No, it wasn't – It was, it was a community centre – Aye, but the old bit was still a church, our Kayleigh was christened there. Oh, aye, aye, she's right.

‘Well, perhaps I could try there,' said Annie, who was struggling with nausea again.

‘Just down there on the High Street. Opposite Woolworths.'

She thanked them for their help.

‘It'll be locked, mind,' they called after her.

The church turned out to be Victorian. She crossed the road for a better look. Part of it was obscured by scaffolding, but seemed very old indeed, possibly Norman. The Victorian bit had been tacked on to the side. There were builders up on the scaffolding who might – or might not – bawl down at her. This unpredictability was their menace. She told herself not to be so feeble. While she hesitated one of them began to sing full-bloodedly from the roof top.

‘“Amazing grace! How sweet the sound . . .”' He sang slowly with a great deal of semi-satirical ornamentation. ‘“Tha-at saved a-a-a wretch li-ike me”'. Annie listened. He seemed to be revelling in his voice, or the view, or the glorious day. She was depressed at the thought that he sounded as if he knew more of the grace of God than she did. The other men began to bay like wolves. There was laughter and shouts in the baffling local accent.

    ‘I once was lost, but now am found.

    Was blind bu-u-ut now I-I see.'

Annie scurried beneath them and tried the door. It was locked as the women had predicted.

A face looked over the edge of the scaffolding. ‘Do you want in, pet?'

‘It's not important.'

But the man was already roaring up to the roof. ‘Vicar! Vicar!'